THE TRUTH ABOUT THE ABORTION PILL
The Abortion Pill Reversal
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THE FIGHT FOR MY LIFE
In the middle of the week, in the middle of the day and in the middle of my crisis, I found myself lying on the bathroom floor, face up, looking at the ceiling. I heard the shower running as I regained consciousness. Alone, confused and cold, I unhooked my legs from the top of the tub, turned over and propped myself up against the toilet. I was met with extreme fatigue and light-headedness as I shifted my body. There was no one to call for help as I was the only one at home. As I slowly collected my thoughts, I carefully stood up and turned off the shower. I thought the process would be simple and straightforward. I believed that I would regain control over my future since my present had been smashed into a million pieces by someone I loved and trusted.
My mother, a strong, loving and faithful woman, did what she could to raise her two children alone while keeping her own psychological and emotional composure intact. She provided a spiritual foundation as best as she knew how. Yet, the emotional void I experienced in childhood would ultimately influence all relationships thereafter. Without a father present in my youth to nurture my sense of self-worth as a young woman, I swam in a sea of self-doubt, emotional insecurity and hunger for love from men. While exhibiting self-control and putting my faith in Christ in other areas of my life, I refused to relinquish my emotional well-being to God. Failed relationship after failed relationship stirred up in me a desperation that I would reach the age of 30 with no children and no husband. Single and 27 years old, I attended church alone week after week painfully pushing back tears and heartbreak as I watched families – fathers, mothers, sons, daughters – worship together in the pews. Exhausted from continually grieving over a future I feared I would never have, I met a man who promised me the world—someone who I thought would stay, choose me first and bring me the emotional peace I longed for. As I walked into that relationship, I walked away from my faith in Jesus.
After two years of submitting myself to psychological abuse, manipulation, and lies, I gathered the courage to leave my dead end relationship while bracing myself for the aftermath of spiritual ruin. I searched for pieces of me among the wreckage of mangled and tarnished dreams to have a family, a home, a career, and a faith that would last a lifetime. Who was I? Who was the Crystal that once found identity and security in success through hard work, prudent decisions, self-control and future planning? Well, she had to be among the debris somewhere. With resolve, I had one choice only; that choice was to get back on a pathway to empowerment and restoration, which would begin on my mother’s couch and with putting what items remained from my home into a storage unit. After turning my condo over to foreclosure, my financial debt over to bankruptcy and my life over to new beginnings, I slowly transitioned into a spiritual reawakening. I began to feel free and light again as I was shutting the door on the past, a dark chapter on yet another failed relationship. Surely, as long as I was alive, I could press ahead on my terms. What I did not know was that a life, not my own, was also inside of me.
There I was, at the age of 29, single, with no husband, no home and no financial stability. I responded to home pregnancy test after home pregnancy test in disbelief and with a hope that by some miracle, all of the tests were false positives. I told no one initially. I held out for one week or so before coming forward to my mother in tears. In the midst of great emotional upheaval, I emphatically rejected the possibility of having the baby of a man who took so much away from me. I would not have his baby and be bound to him in any way for the rest of my life. I would not be a single mother statistic after losing all of what I had built over my life time. It was the wrong time, wrong situation and wrong person. How would my dream family ever come to fruition in this way? I could not bear another blow to my fragile ego and endure overwhelming shame without losing the rest of me. I truly believed that my baby would hinder my healing. I simply was not prepared to raise my baby without a father, therefore sentencing her to a life of emotional turmoil and financial lack. With no health insurance and no primary doctor, I headed to the first place I could think of—Planned Parenthood—to jump over yet another hurdle standing in the way between me and my restored future.
When I arrived at the Planned Parenthood clinic, I had no clear expectations. I entered a medium-sized waiting room mostly filled with women who seemed to divert their gaze from one another. That didn’t matter much to me as I was on a mission to handle business. I did not need or want any validation or push back from anyone. Once I entered the examination room and began speaking with the nurse, I went straight to the point. I had come to confirm a pregnancy. I silently prayed again that a miracle would occur, and the results would come back negative. As the nurse quickly dismantled my wishful thinking with the reality that I was seven weeks pregnant and that I had options, I was still all the more resolved to have an abortion. I imagine I may have used the language “I wish to terminate the pregnancy” distancing myself from any use of the words “kill”, “my” and “baby”. Neither presented with an ultrasound nor a solemn moment to consider the weight of my decision to keep or end a life, I left the clinic with information on medical abortion. I was initially amazed at how easy medical abortion would be based on the information presented in the pamphlet. My seven-week pregnancy fell within the nine-week cut-off for “the abortion pill”. I had not consulted with anyone or read about anyone else’s experience to know the risks. The truth is that I didn’t want to discover even the tiniest piece of information that would dissuade me from achieving my goal. Unable to cover the $500 cost of the abortion on my own, I asked family members for funds so that I could accomplish the unthinkable. With my heart still far from God and my spirit desensitized to the convicting power of the Holy Spirit, I headed back to the clinic for my appointment finalizing plans to begin the process. I imagine that I signed papers and waivers, but cannot recall. I imagine that I was asked once more if this was my final decision, but I can’t say with certainty. I want to believe that the staff and the nurses were truly concerned for my well-being and safety. However, in the days to come, they would be proven otherwise.
I took the first pill of two, mifepristone, at the clinic. The first pill inhibits the production of the hormone progesterone, which is a key supporting component in sustaining the baby’s growth during pregnancy. Once I took the first pill, there was no turning back. My uterus was now preparing to shed the protective lining it had created for the baby. I exchanged my $500 for an unmarked white paper lunch bag filled with the second pill, misoprostol, and paper work indicating home care instructions, cautions and emergency information should the need arise. According to the nurse, all that was left to do was to go home, get comfortable, give myself a day or two and have some ibuprofen on hand after taking the second pill within a 24 hour window. I was given the choice to go through my abortion with someone by my side or alone…alone? I took the second pill when I arrived home as instructed. Once ingested, the misoprostol introduced prostaglandins into my system, promoting uterine contractions marking the next stage in ending life.
Shortly after taking the second medication, cramping began. I felt the urge to sit on the toilet several times as my body began expelling everything from within my digestive track. Cramping transitioned into intense uterine contractions putting me in a cycle of curling up on the couch and then sitting on the toilet cradling my stomach. Throughout the days to follow, my body labored to release my baby…little by little. At that time, I did not understand the true nature of what I was actually experiencing. According to the medical industry, it was just the premature ending of a pregnancy and a washing away of the evidence. However, I now understand that my body was placed into a labor-induced state. I have since grieved for that mother and that baby who were pushed aside into darkness that traumatic week ten years ago. We were sent home, in the shadow of shame, so that I could birth my baby seven months prematurely in the isolation of a bathroom. There was no one there to hold my hand, provide solace or comfort. There was no one checking my vital signs or quantifying the amount of blood I lost in the process. I could not share with anyone the graphic details of what I saw and experienced as there are images still too difficult to describe.
When I came to myself lying on the floor in the bathroom that day, my world was shaken yet again. I called my mother at work to explain my fainting spell. She headed home while I called Planned Parenthood to determine the severity of my situation. Disappointed by the cool and dismissive response by the female voice on the other end of the phone, I hastily processed the two options she gave me: take myself to the hospital or come to the clinic to have my vital signs checked. Where was her urgency? Her concern? Now, I realize that I was no different from the countless women who had made the same call and were given the same set of choices. With no medical insurance to cover a costly visit to the hospital emergency room, I decided to return to Planned Parenthood. According to the nurse, my vital signs appeared normal, and thus, I returned home to recover alone. Although I attempted to go into work that week, the side effects of my abortion prevented me from doing so. I called out sick multiple days in a row stating that I had some sort of stomach flu that wouldn’t resolve itself. How many women could openly share with her employer that she is taking a few days off to have an abortion needing time for the procedure and recovery? Neither my employer nor my friends knew that my baby lost her life that week, and that I could have lost mine.
For years, I rationalized and minimized my abortion likening it to a little stain barely visible on the bottom of a shirt. Surely, no one would ever notice if I kept everything tucked in nice and neat. I believed that God had already restored my life by providing me with a husband and children. For ten years, while repairing my broken relationship with the Lord, I refused to bring my abortion before God with a humble heart. If I were to make myself emotionally vulnerable to God, I would have to totally trust Him. And if I let Him in, I feared that opening the flood gates would leave me consumed by the pain of my past. Behind my warm smile and people-pleasing behavior, I built a fortress of fear and hypervigilance to repel any possible emotional assaults from others around me. Yet, the lack of relationship boundaries left me trapped in a feedback loop of anxiety and increased mental instability. Influenced by false teaching regarding God’s character, I had feared God’s judgment, His removal of favor and my eternal demise if I failed to uphold unwavering standards in my Christian walk. Through all of the fear and confusion, I still longed to be loved, valued, and declared worthy even in the midst of pain and suffering brought on by my sinful condition.
In 2019, the fortress I built on the sands of human pride collapsed. I had refused to build my emotional foundation upon the rock of Jesus Christ, which left me without peace or without joy. Lacking the emotional fortitude to manage minor day to day issues much less ongoing challenges, I became frustrated to the point of anger and bitterness. I had experienced another low blow to my sense of self. I cried out to God over and over again begging for relief, yet too scared to trust the tender parts of my soul to Him. I yearned to know God’s purpose for me apart from all of the responsibilities I carried out in my daily existence. Life-long spiritual bondage blinded me from seeing God’s extended hand of salvation from my emotional prison. While on the verge of total breakdown, I clung to Jesus, I clung to life, and I clung to God’s promise to answer my prayers.
With grace and gentleness, God has masterfully laid a pathway toward restoration having invited me to choose the life He has designed just for me. In January of 2020, I humbled my heart as the Holy Spirit empowered me with the courage to begin the healing process by surrendering my secret of abortion in the safety of other post-abortive women who affirmed Christ’s love for me. During the intimate conversations with my beloved sisters in Christ, I rediscovered my worth as a unique creation of our Heavenly Father in the pages of His Holy Word. Psalm 139:14 tells me that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made”. Like the Samaritan woman that met Jesus at the well, I have found the living water that Christ gives freely, thus quenching my thirst for unconditional love, acceptance and worth. I can now proclaim that my sin of abortion has been forgiven because of the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross. My faith in His resurrection to life has revived my hope in a future free from shame and guilt. Placing my trust in the Lord has been the key to my salvation and my continued transformation. No longer in the fight for my life, I now rest in the eternal life God has promised through Christ Jesus.
Grace ‘s Story
TO GOD’S SONS AND DAUGHTERS
My name is Grace Zimmermann. I had my abortion when I was 22 years old. However, my story begins before the day I aborted my baby. I was born in Hialeah, Florida to a single mother and to a family who loves me very much. While raising me, my mom worked very hard to give me the best life and the best experiences she could. I attended a catholic private school, and I always looked presentable. My childhood memories are filled with having great times with my friends and always being active. While I had much to enjoy, I also experienced my father coming in and out of my life from childhood into the present. Being rejected by him in various ways resulted in my giving up on attempting to “fix” it all, which seemed like something I always had to do. While I was growing up, I always tried to do what was right, and I felt guilty if I didn’t. I made sure I was doing my best to meet other people’s standards and did not realize I was being a people-pleaser at the time.
During my high school years, I continued my attempts to measure up, but I was surrounded by alcohol, drugs and parties. Around the time of my junior year, I found myself dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts. I remember searching for something that would fill my void. At the age of 17, I was saved by my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He changed my life forever. I began seeking him from then on, and I experienced a peace that no other could give. I spent my first years of college truly devoted to Him. Around the age of 19, almost 20, I reconnected with a friend who I knew from high school. We would talk for hours on the phone, and we realized how much we had in common, especially a love for Jesus. We met over coffee and knew we wanted to be in each other’s lives. He shared how he had a problem with certain drugs, but I brushed it aside thinking “we all used to do things in high school that we regret”. So, I did not dwell on it.
Over a few months, our relationship and love for one another grew into a special bond. However, I could no longer hide the fact that I was dealing with an addict. I soon realized what addiction truly is and dealt with the pain that it causes resulting from the hospitalizations, incarcerations, robberies and more. I was committed to him, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him before all of these things began to occur. I couldn’t leave knowing that the person I knew and loved was trapped inside of an addict. As the addiction took its toll, my life consisted of making sure he was okay. My anxiety and depression lingered while my school work, family and friends became less of a priority.
Around our second year together, my boyfriend remained sober for four months. Everything seemed to be on track—the way I wanted. I was still in school. I had a steady job. I was attending NAR-ANON meetings to help me cope, and I was attending church regularly with my boyfriend. In addition, he was attending his meetings and held a steady job. During this time, I constantly argued with my mother because I frequently came home late. I thought I was doing the right thing for myself and for my relationship. I believed that my mom was attempting to control my life. As a result of feeling threatened, I left my mother’s house and moved in with my boyfriend. Even though I feared leaving home, I felt comfortable being with him.
After living together for several months, I found out I was pregnant. In total shock, I never imagined I would bring a child into the circumstances we were experiencing. I will never forget the pure joy on my boyfriend’s face when I told him the news. Immediately, I rejected him and began my attempts to control the situation. I fell into a deep depression unable to stop crying for days. During this same time, my boyfriend relapsed. I knew that I had to leave and take control of my life again. I stayed up many nights trying to figure out where he was and when he would be coming back. I sought advice in the wrong places. I looked online for a way out convinced by others that my mother would not accept me because of this. I decided that abortion was my best option.
It wasn’t but a few years before my pregnancy that I was making the case against abortion on school papers and to other people. I never would have imagined myself to be in that very same position years later making the decision for myself. I went to Planned Parenthood seeking a solution and financial help. My abortion cost no more than $300. I was rejected by Planned Parenthood twice because my blood pressure was extremely high and had to be retaken. By the time I went in for my abortion procedure, I was seven weeks pregnant. The nurses assured me that it was safe and that I would be okay. Little did I know that I would almost lose my life a few weeks later.
I took the first pill in the doctor’s office. I then took the second pill at home accompanied with pain medication and antibiotics. As the medication took effect, there are no words to describe the pain other than it feeling like the life was being taken out of me. During this time of physical pain, I imagined my boyfriend’s emotional pain as the life was also being drained out of our relationship. That night, I was in and out of consciousness because of the amount of pain I was experiencing. The doctor earlier explained that I would bleed for a couple of weeks but that it would ease up in the following weeks. Two to three weeks passed by, and I stopped bleeding.
All of a sudden, while I was in the kitchen, I felt heavy streams of blood roll down my legs. I filled up three sanitary napkins in twenty minutes. I called my boyfriend’s mom asking her to please take me to the hospital. I could barely walk to the car because of the amount of blood I was losing. By the time I arrived at the ER, the car seat was a bloody puddle. As I stood up, the blood streamed down to my shoes. I was placed in a wheelchair leaving drops of blood on the floor as I rolled along. At that point, I began feeling extreme cramping—a pain that I could not bear. With blood clots the size of my hands, I would need surgery to remove what was left of the pregnancy according to the doctors. Their first choice, however, was to allow my body time to release what it could. I lost so much blood. With a blood count so low and my kidneys being monitored, I would need blood transfusions. The doctors later explained that my body was rejecting the pill in order to hold onto the pregnancy. I stayed in the hospital for a few more days until my hemoglobin level reached an acceptable number for my release. I could barely walk from the pain and weakness. I continued on bed rest for 3 months while I visited the doctor at the hospital for weekly check-ups.
That summer, I turned 23 years old in denial of what I had gone through emotionally, physically and spiritually. Satan had deceived, destroyed and killed many parts of me. I began to realize the gravity of what I had done. The guilt and the shame consumed me. By the power of the Holy Spirit, I knew God was still there even when I did not understand why He would be. I prayed for help from someone who would understand me. By the grace of God, a woman like Toni came into my life and spoke truth to me. She reminded me that what I went though was traumatic and not okay. I am now 24 years old and have experienced healing from abortion, only through Jesus Christ. Even though I am beginning my journey to heal from the pain and loss, He has already shown me the peace I can experience through His love. The choice of abortion took my daughter’s life, and it almost took mine leaving behind wounds in my relationships. I share my story with you hoping that you find a new perspective on your healing journey or that you reconsider any thoughts you may have of aborting your baby.